Baba Who? Babalú!

When Lázaro de la Caridad Zulueta Soa traveled to a distant city to receive Babalú-Ayé Lucumí, his new wife did not want to be excluded. Nor did she want to be implicated in the ceremony. So she timed her flight to arrive just after the awán, when there would be little danger of the oricha still mounting her husband or his ritual family. On the day of the itá, Lázaro had a terrible stomach—he was anxious to learn what Babalú had in store for him. Again his wife did not want to be left out or too involved. Thinking (naïvely) that a little distance would keep her out of harm’s way, she sat in the next room and read a bestselling novel, as the diviner read the shells: Afrá said that everything sweet turns sour, and Babalú-Ayé said that marriage is a palace with two doors, the true one and the false one. But Lázaro’s wife did not get to hear those messages. In a little more than a year, the bitterness of a false marriage had become intolerable: Lázaro, Afrá, and Babalú-Ayé moved out.

In Oché-Osá, the elders tell this story that introduces yet another little-known companion of Babalú-Ayé. Once, in the land called Osun Irawo, there lived a powerful royal couple named Oduaremu and Ekubijegan. These two indicated to the citizens of that land how to adore the ancestors. They had a child who was born deformed and with rickets, and so they named him Ason, meaning “sickness.” Ason was always wandering through his parents’ kingdom, but no one wanted to recognize him. But one day he happened upon Death who said, “Since no one understands you, why don’t you ally yourself with me and then you will be great in my kingdom? So Ason dressed in Death’s clothes, and with his black suit he visited Death’s kingdom, where he received honors, including the title “Keleyewe Kuto,” a secretive man recognized in the land of the dead. When Ason returned to his parents’ kingdom, it was racked with calamities, and Death began to dominate its residents. Oduaremu and Ekubijegan visited the k

My last post has me ruminating on the ubiquitous presence of rare orichas. I have no idea if anyone has actually ever consecrated Ajuangan , but it is an interesting idea. The odu Osá-Ogbe offers a similarly intriguing possibility: one tratado says that here Asojano prepared his “pot of witchcraft,” which he called Ibako. After wrapping it in black and white cloth, he fed it some nasty stuff. Another tratado calls Ibako the “witch” of Oluó Popó; Ibako is supposed to live in the forest, buried at the foot of an Araba tree. Like Asojano, Ibako is an ambiguous mixture of elements: he takes an ancestral relic but he also takes stones. Like Ajuangan, he is explicitly referred to as an oricha. To consecrate him, you must sing many songs for Osain and Asojano. I know Pedro Abreu—Asonyanye has given Ibako to his godchildren at times, though I don’t really know how he decides who should have Ibako and who should not. Abreu calls Ibako “the prenda of Asojano.”

My wife received Babalú-Ayé a few years back, and she is devoted to him, truly loves him. So, last week I asked her what she wanted to know about Babá. She reflected for a moment and said in her inimitable way, "I want to know where his compassion comes from." I don't know of any patakí that explains that, but I once had a dream which may speak to this question. In the dream, Babalú-Ayé and I stood together in a dark space. In the darkness, I heard his rough voice say, "I can feel all the pain in the world." Maybe the Lucumí elders learned their laconic style from the orichas themselves. Here Babá seems to say it all in a single sentence: He feels my pain. He feels your pain. He feels every one's pain. This is a very different take on what it means to be the Lord of the World. I believe it is his own suffering that leads to his compassion. Because he knows all the suffering in the world, he does not shy away from suffering in us. Because he knows that ev

There is an interesting story in the odu Irete-Oyekun that speaks of powers buried in the Earth. The King of Hebieque was called Disu, and he had a twin brother, Ajuangan, who was a sorcerer, a witch, and just terrible. He fed himself and his shrine objects with human blood. When the King found out about his twin brother’s evil deeds, he made a great hole in the Earth and placed Ajuangan there with every kind of food imaginable. He closed the hole and in that way consecrated Ajuangan as a fodún (oricha) so that he could do no more harm. When the King thought his brother had regenerated himself, he stood before the hole and said: Vitse dokpo meyi Ajuangan kuko No one can cut Ajuangan, I defend him. The next morning, Ajuangan turned back into a man and more of a sorcerer than ever before, and he named himself Akpodjivodu-Kombo-Kumku-Mabo (meaning, “He who has no friends”). He continued to kill people, and so they made a great hole in the Earth, filled it with dry wood to make a

Yesterday I could not access Blogger so I posted this first on Wikipedia . Thanks to those of you who provided feedback on the first draft--you definitely helped me improve it. * * * * * * * The narratives and rituals that carry important cultural information about Babalú-Ayé include various recurring and interrelated themes. Earth: Babalú-Ayé’s worship is frequently linked to the Earth itself both in Africa and the Americas, and even his name identifies him with the Earth itself (McKenzie 1997:417). However, he also said to provide his followers with other material blessings as well. Taken as symbol of a large set of concerns, Babalú’s link with the Earth can be understood as an emphasis on the centrality of the material in human life. Illness and Suffering: Long referred to as the “god of smallpox,” Babalú certainly links back to disease in the body and the changes it brings (Wenger 1983:168). Because Babalú-Ayé both punishes people with illness and rewards them with health,

The elders say that Babalú-Ayé can possess anyone, because he is compared to an ancestor, and anyone can get possessed by an ancestor. Similarly, they say it is because all human beings are subject to illness. So it is no surprise that many people seem to pass Babalú-Ayé or ancestral spirits who serve him. In fact, in Matanzas City, Chino Pérez is widely known as a horse of Babalú-Ayé, even though he is the keeper of the house of Ferminita Gómez, the home of one of the original Olocuns in Cuba. While he has received Babá’s fundamento , when last I visited him, he had not undergone the full initiation known as the asiento , nor was he inclined to. It seemed unnecessary as Babalú-Ayé came and went quite fluidly in possession, and he frequently did miraculous things when he did appear. In fact, when Saúl Fernández—Babá Ni Beleké made Lucumí Babalú-Ayé direct in Havana in the late 1990s, he called upon El Chino to create the secret that went inside. Justly or not, many people in Ara

Almost every time I have visited the Church of San Lázaro in Rincón around his feast day, I have encountered the same thin, reserved woman. After greeting her many times and leaving alms on her humble altar in front of the church, I finally sat down next to her and struck up a conversation. Iris Hernández-Salazar has been a devotee of San Lázaro since she became seriously ill at age seven. Her mother had made ocha while pregnant with Iris, so there was always a special bond between Iris and the orichas. When she became ill, her father made a promise to San Lázaro: if the Old Man would cure Iris, her father would acquire a statue of the saint and place in the family’s living room in Rincón. Well, it worked, and Iris grew up with the statue in the house. “I speak to him as if he were a person. He gives me much peace, tranquility, and much love. He even responds to me. I feel him within me. But I have never made another promise. San Lázaro is very great.” In a tradition of i

I am not sure that they have celebrated the Feast of Babalú-Ayé in this way since Armando Zulueta —Omí Toké joined the ancestors in 1990, but I have heard the descriptions again and again with little variation. The ceremony started on December 16th in the house of Octavia Zulueta—Jundesi with an Arará drumming. No one told me whose drums they were or who played. Perhaps they were from the next block over at the Sociedad Africana de Santa Bárbara . Perhaps they came from the Fernández house in Agromonte, though I did not see drums there. Perhaps they came from Jovellanos or Matanzas City. When orichas or fodunces , as the Arará sometimes call the deities, came down, they would leave Octavia’s house near the cemetery and walk to Armando’s, where they would salute his Babalú-Ayé. After midnight, once it was in fact December 17th, the whole ceremony would move too. At Armando´s, they did the awán for Babalú-Ayé and then fed Afrá, Nanú, and the Old Man on the back patio, just outside

Last year I focused on the more public aspects of Cuban veneration for Babalú-Ayé at this time of year, writing about the spectacular festival celebrated at Rincón , but this year I want to draw attention to the more localized, more particular manifestations of that devotion. At the house of Armando Zulueta --Omí Toké, they are already preparing. They are planning a trip to the cemetery to cool the graves of Armando and his godmother Octavia--Jundesi. They are organzing the Lucumí and Arará drummers they need to play at the house. They are certainly worrying about how they will feed the hundred or more people who will enter the house. They are looking for an old goat to give to the Old Man and they are looking for a large pig to give to Nanú. They are buying dry white wine and rum, and they are toasting dried corn. The money they have in hand determines much of what is possible, but they do continue honor Babalú-Ayé with an elaborate set of ceremonies. Later this week, I will des

The hidden and fundamentally mysterious nature of Babalú-Ayé is nowhere more obvious for me than at the secret of San Lázaro , planted in the house of Armando Zulueta--Omí Toké by his teacher Octavia Zulueta--Jundesi. While I have participated in the worship of the secret and Armando's people do engage it every year as part of their annual festival for Babalú-Ayé, there is little understanding of its particular use or the specific conditions that led Jundesi to mount it. As I recently reread Herskovits's book on Dahomey, I came across his compelling discussion of the diversity of perspectives in the religious life there. He takes as one example a spirit called aizan . Some people say it is a vodou and some say it is not, but everyone seems to agree on a few ideas: This translates as "mat of the earth."  There are aizan for compounds, villages, lineages, markets, and vodou temples. The aizan are treated like any other spirit, beseeched for support and rewarded f